


dragons don't cry

by theelusiveflamingo



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Pre-A Game of Thrones, Sad Targaryen Feelings, Vague semblance of plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-27
Updated: 2014-02-27
Packaged: 2018-01-13 23:20:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1244239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theelusiveflamingo/pseuds/theelusiveflamingo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A look at the relationship between Joanna Lannister and Rhaella Targaryen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	dragons don't cry

**Author's Note:**

> The rating will go up in the next chapter posted, I imagine ;)

It is cold in King’s Landing tonight, much colder than usual, and Joanna has put on a nightshift to keep warm instead of sleeping naked as her nameday as is her custom.  But her mind seems to be heating itself up to keep her warm in this terrible damp chill.  With every brush of her nipples against the fabric of the shift each time she moves, she stays painfully aware that, as on most nights, she shares a bed with someone.  The heat in her mind begins to flow through her body.  She is no longer cold; she is wanting.

Next to her the princess cries into her pillow.  Everything Targaryens do, they do bigger and bolder than anyone else, it seems.  Her cries are not the soft tears of a maiden, but big, ugly things.  _They do sound like the tears of a dragon_ , Joanna thinks with some degree of impatience. 

“My princess, we both need our sleep,” Joanna says, rolling over to face the girl who has become a friend of sorts.  She is some years older than Joanna, but often seems younger.  Living all her life playing amongst dragon skulls and being waited upon hand and foot has not quite granted her wisdom.  “What is plaguing you so?  It’s not time for your moon’s blood, is it?”  She knows exactly the reason for Rhaella’s tears, but uses this as a pretext to place her hand on her stomach and rub gently.  “I’ll go wake Pycelle and fetch some milk of the poppy if you really cannot bear it.”  The princess has worked herself into such a state her shift is soaked with sweat.  It is not unpleasant under Joanna’s palm.

Rhaella shoves her hand away.  “I don’t _want_ to marry him,” she cries, “and he doesn’t want me either.  I’ll never be happy again, never, I promise you, Joanna, I’ll _never_ be happy.”

“Oh, stop that,” Joanna says.  She pinches Rhaella’s nose to make her giggle, though the princess only swats that hand away too.  “It can’t be so bad, can it?  At least you know him—he’s not some stranger from across the seas.  And he’s a Prince, so you’ll be a Princess twice over.”  She leans in close.  Rhaella always smells of lavender.  The scent is fresh and light but it lingers.  Certainly it has lingered in Joanna’s nostrils as of late.  “I’ve always fancied being a princess.”

If Rhaella were a ship on the Narrow Sea, Joanna thinks, not one storm could stray her from her course. She keeps on with her wailing.  “I thought I was Grandfather’s favorite, he always told me so, he would—”

“Give you three sweets for every one he gave Aerys, yes, I know,” Joanna sighs.  “But this doesn’t mean he mislikes you, Princess.  He is just worried about the future of your House.  He’s trusting you to keep it going.  Something great will come of your line.”  Joanna would like a chance at greatness.

“I don’t care about my bloody House!”  Rhaella’s shout feels like it echoes through the room, breaks the ice-cold stillness, nestles in the crimson draperies above the bed.  “Aerys and I don’t _love_ each other.  He’s skinny and boring and terrible at tourneys anyway.  I want to marry—”

Joanna slaps her hand over the princess’s mouth.  “Have you gone mad as half your ancestors?” she hisses.  “You can’t say anything like that ever again.  What if someone hears?  Next thing you know someone will be accusing you of adultery or treason.  I’ve seen all the history books the septa makes you read.  You should know that sort of thing happens all the time.”  Thank the Seven, Rhaella finally quiets, though in the bit of moonlight that creeps in through the drapes, Joanna can see her eyes still shine with tears.  In the dark, their violet color hard to see, they remind Joanna of pearls.  The princess has pearls for eyes.  She rubs her thumb over Rhaella’s bottom lip, expecting a hand to push her away.  No hand comes.

“Now let’s stop crying and go to sleep,” Joanna says, keeping her hand where it is.  “I’m not sure of the hour, but it must be terribly late.  We’ll both look a disaster when we break our fast.  We’ll frighten everyone away.”

Finally Rhaella laughs.

“There we go, Princess.  Much better.”

“I’ve told you,” Rhaella says, her voice muffled, each word a puff of breath against Joanna’s palm, “you don’t have to call me that.  We can just be friends.”

“Oh,” Joanna says, smiling.  She inclines her head the slightest bit into the moonlight, letting the pale beams make her golden curls glow.  “But I like it.  I’ve always wanted to know a princess, and you’re to be a princess twice over.”  She slides her hand off Rhaella’s mouth and over the thin bones of her jaw.  Neither Rhaella nor Aerys looks much like their Targaryen warrior ancestors of long ago, Aegon and Daemon and Bittersteel and all the others.  They seem hungry and easy to harm, with their big eyes and dainty build.  It is always a relief when Joanna sees her cousin Tywin-- how healthy he looks.   “See that you don’t forget it.”

She leans down and begins to kiss each tear that’s fallen on the princess’s pale cheeks.   They taste of salt but Joanna swears to herself it is some of the sweetest salt her tongue has ever tried.  She kisses the places where the old ones have dried, the little trails they have made over cheek and cheekbone, the fresh ones that speckle her face until no more fall.  She kisses eyelids and forehead, and imagines briefly how the red of her lips would look tangled in the hair of old Valyria.

All this time the princess neither moves nor talks.  Were it not for her soft breaths Joanna might think her dead.

“Good night, sweet princess,” Joanna says at last, rolling back over onto her side of the bed.  “No more tears tomorrow.  Dragons breathe out fire, not tears.”

Her heart is beating very fast in the quiet room.  How could someone be so docile after her kisses? she thinks.  Once in Lannisport she’d kissed a Marbrand boy, and _he_ had not been quiet.

“I didn’t know you thought I was beautiful,” Rhaella whispers, then.  Joanna smirks at the darkness.  She’s such a strangely _innocent_ thing.  As though beauty were the only reason to kiss a princess.

“Almost as beautiful as I find myself to be,” Joanna says, “if you want to know the truth of it.”

The princess tugs at Joanna’s hair, and Joanna turns over once more, ready to tell her that one does not just _touch_ a lioness without waiting to be told.  Not even a princess.  Instead, Rhaella grabs Joanna’s hand, brings it to her lips, and kisses it.

“You’re too kind to me,” she says.

Joanna pulls the covers up over the two of them, leaving nothing out in the cold, not even the tops of their heads.  “We all want to marry for love, my princess,” she whispers.  “But I don’t imagine it happens too often.”

“Please, don’t ever leave me,” Rhaella whispers back.  “I’ll need you by my side.  Even after I’m married.  I’ve always been fond of you, truly.”

 _Fond_.  It’s a very grown-person sort of word, Joanna thinks.  Even a Targaryen can learn to be wise.

“I’ll be your companion until I am no longer needed,” Joanna says.  “I promise.”

The princess’s next words are so quiet if there had even been one ember crackling in the fireplace Joanna would not have heard them.

“Will you kiss me again, my lady?”

Joanna doesn’t know what to make of being called _my lady_ , nor does she know whether to reward Rhaella for being sweet and deferent or chastise her for even daring to ask, but it’s so hot under the covers and she tangles her hand in the hair of old Valyria and kisses the princess deeply on the mouth.

Still the girl hardly moves, hardly makes a sound, but they kiss until their tongues touch, so Joanna cannot complain.


End file.
